


the good that won't come out

by introductory



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Biting/Marking, Blood Kink, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Relationship, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Unreliable Narrator, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/introductory/pseuds/introductory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're acting like you've never risked your life for me before," says Reiner, knowing Bertolt can't argue with that, especially not when he's just taken on a fifteen-meter deviant entirely on his own.  "You don't see me lecturing you about it."</p><p>"That's <em>different,</em>" Bertolt says, then bites his lip like he regrets having spoken at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the good that won't come out

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written August 2013 and rewritten/abandoned/forgotten several times over the past two years. If I was going to start this fic over today I'd tell it differently and with a lot more finesse, but I hope most readers can still enjoy it for what it is despite the occasional clumsy paragraph.
> 
> Contains spoilers through ch. 48 of the manga ("Someone") but goes off-canon right after ch. 41 ("Historia") and takes place about a year later, ignoring all further plot arcs. 
> 
> Thanks to c. for brainstorming the original scenario with me over chat back in 2013.
> 
> [Writing soundtrack: [Daughter - Winter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SO9_s33WfO0) & [Daughter - Still](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHlDU7GokIc).]

He doesn't think about it. There isn't _time_ to think, only to act, and Reiner's throwing himself in between Sasha and the monstrous hand closing in on her before she can even see it coming. He doesn't have the strength to free himself or room to disable the Titan as it hoists him into the air; all he can do is scream for the others to run until his lungs are too crushed to make a sound. 

_I'm going to die here,_ he realizes, almost distantly: his luck had to run out sometime, didn't it? He's already outlived four-fifths of their graduating class, and statistically speaking it was only just a matter of time: regardless of the will to live, regardless of his foolish hope that despite the odds, he'd go home again  someday --

The Titan's teeth glisten with saliva, wickedly sharp, and the only thought in his mind is that at least it'll be quick.

\-- until there's the hissing sound of a grapple and a meaty _thud_ as it hits flesh, and instead of biting Reiner in half the Titan lets loose a bellow of pain. Another unexpected sound, this one of metal on bone, and suddenly Reiner finds himself being jerked violently in the Titan's grip as it reacts, albeit dully. It isn't much, but it's enough; Reiner's able to twist his body half-out of the clenched fist and _strike,_ driving his blade deep into the nearest soft surface.

The next few seconds are a blur, and Reiner's unprepared to find himself falling through the air to land hard on his side; the impact sends shockwaves of pain through his body, white-hot and paralyzing, but after a few moments he's able to pull himself slowly to his feet. 

The first thing he sees is the Titan's decapitated corpse lying halfway in what once must have been a cellar, the blood that spurts in violent jets from the stump of its neck. The second is Bertolt, near-drenched in it and looking at Reiner with exhaustion written all over his face, and Reiner's nearly brought to his knees by the rush of gratitude and affection that washes over him.

" _Bertolt,_ " he says, face breaking out into a grin, and sweeps Bertolt up into a hug; there's blood dripping from Bertolt's hair and his clothes, but Reiner holds him tight regardless. "Thanks for the rescue -- I honestly thought I was done for this time."

Bertolt pulls away after a moment, head bowed. "You're not the only one," he murmurs, almost too quietly to be heard. "Reiner, you -- "

His next words are drowned out by the telltale whistle of a signal flare -- white smoke, the all-clear -- but he doesn't say anything more when the sound fades away. Reiner slings an arm around his friend, attempting to reassure him, and when he feels Bertolt's shoulders slump just a fraction he leans in, kisses him quickly on the cheek. 

"You worry too much," he chides. "I'm fine, see? Now, let's go meet up with the others -- the sooner we get out of here, the better."

Bertolt pushes his wet hair out of his face. "Your gear -- "

"Right, yeah." Reiner stoops to collect the equipment he'd dropped when the Titan had grabbed him, inspecting it for any damage. When he looks up he notices Bertolt just standing there watching him, and says, teasingly, "Seriously, Bertolt, staring at my ass at a time like this?"

"Th-that's not what I -- I wasn't -- " Bertolt breaks off abruptly, looking down at the ground. "Why are you always doing this?"

Reiner shakes his head. "Relax, Bertolt. I was just making a joke."

"No, Reiner, that's not -- why do you keep doing _this,_ " says Bertolt. He holds his palms up, helplessly, and lets his gaze sweep over the bloodstained walls, the disintegrating Titan corpse only meters away. " _Tell_ me."

Reiner gets to his feet, mood beginning to sour. "What's there to tell? It snuck up on Sasha while she was finishing off another one -- was I supposed to just let it _eat_ her?" 

Bertolt says nothing in the particular way that means he wants to be contrary but won't admit it out loud, and Reiner's temper flares red-hot for the few seconds it takes him to get it under control. Bertolt's been acting strangely ever since they set out for the basement, asking Reiner all sorts of cryptic questions, making remarks that leave him cold and unsettled, and he's just about had enough. Annie's always kept her own secrets, but for Bertolt to leave him out of some hidden agenda, to treat him like he's guilty of some wrongdoing -- it's Utgard all over again, and Reiner won't stand for it.

"Fine," he says, looking Bertolt straight in the eye. "At least _one of us_ hasn't forgotten their duty as a sworn member of the Survey Corps."

"To die if we're ordered to." Bertolt holds his gaze for only a moment before looking away. "Not to do it ourselves."

"You're acting like you've never risked your life for me before," says Reiner, knowing Bertolt can't argue with that, especially not when he's just taken on a fifteen-meter deviant entirely on his own. "You don't see me lecturing you about it."

"That's _different,_ " Bertolt says, then bites his lip like he regrets having spoken at all. 

"And exactly _how_ is it different?" Reiner stares at him, waiting for an answer, but Bertolt says nothing; after a moment, however, he looks up and meets Reiner's stare again, his eyes bottle-green and unhappy, and suddenly Reiner feels the fight draining out of him. 

"I'm sorry, all right?" he says, waiting until Bertolt gives a small nod in response. "But I'd do it again if I had to, and you know that. She needed me."

" _I_ need you," says Bertolt, face miserable and bloodied and beautiful, and Reiner isn't thinking, either, when he steps forward and cups his face with sticky hands, kisses him long and slow and deep. Bertolt makes a noise of surprise, one that turns into a whine as Reiner licks into his open mouth. 

"Reiner!" he says, pushing at Reiner's chest to separate them. "Someone's going to see us -- "

"Let them," says Reiner. "It's not like they don't all already know." Bertolt stiffens at that, eyes widening, and Reiner takes the opportunity to back him up against a nearby wall, to get a thigh between Bertolt's legs and _press_. The breathless noise Bertolt makes in response is amazing, and though Reiner isn't even half-hard yet he has to shut his eyes tight for a moment to regain his composure.

"I'm sorry I was reckless," he murmurs, sliding his hands down to Bertolt's waist and tugging the hem of his shirt out from his jeans, getting his hands all over Bertolt's warm, dark skin. "Sorry I got angry. I'll make it up to you, all right?"

"Reiner -- " Bertolt turns his face away, even as his body arches forward, and Reiner's next kisses fall short onto his chin, the line of his jaw. "We can't, not _here_."

He's wrong, though: they could, Reiner's sure of it, and no one would dare to say a damn word. As trainees they'd all been quick to find a bed-partner, from Marco to Armin to Ymir; and this is the Survey Corps now -- in their line of work, who would begrudge another even the smallest of comforts? 

So Reiner keeps on kissing him, keeps touching him, smearing bloody handprints all over Bertolt's nicest sweater and the buckles of his gear, the buttons of his jeans, frees Bertolt from the confines of his gear so Reiner can press closer; Bertolt is hard against him, rocking his hips in search of friction, and Reiner wants nothing more than to give him what he needs.

"We can't, Reiner," pleads Bertolt. "What if someone comes looking -- "

Reiner cuts him off with another kiss. "Tell me to stop," he says, low, against Bertolt's open mouth.

Bertolt draws in a huge, shuddering breath like he's just gotten the wind knocked out of him. " _God,_ " he says, in the spaces between one kiss and the next, but he's no longer pushing Reiner away, he's baring his throat and pressing their bodies together, letting Reiner take what he wants. His hands, too, are busy, sliding across Reiner's chest, loosening the straps of his gear to let it clatter to the ground, clutching at his shoulders to drag him even nearer.

When Reiner draws Bertolt's cock out from his jeans and thumbs the head of it, his fingers leave behind a wet, red smear. "Please," says Bertolt, hips stuttering forward. "Oh, Reiner, please -- "

" _Fuck,_ Bertl," says Reiner, a shiver running through him; Bertolt knows what it does to Reiner when he begs, when he makes it sound like Reiner's the only thing keeping him from falling apart. In one swift motion he gets Bertolt turned around and pinned to the wall, his front pressed flat against the stone. 

"Reiner, w-what -- " he says, looking over his shoulder with wide eyes, but Reiner ignores him. 

When he digs his teeth into the nape of Bertolt's neck, the other boy lets out a yelp, beginning to struggle instinctively; a few more seconds of pressure and finally Bertolt goes limp, breath hitching. He's not what anyone would call _delicate,_ but still there's something fragile, something vulnerable about the perfect arch of his neck; Reiner laves his tongue over the skin before biting down again, and this time Bertolt makes a sharp noise that can't be mistaken for pleasure. 

"Sorry," says Reiner, easing up and pressing his lips to the spot instead; he can't tell the difference between the blood he's drawn and the blood already soaking Bertolt's skin. "Didn't mean to get so carried away." 

"It's -- it's fine," gasps Bertolt, shivering beneath him, "just -- god, Reiner, _touch_ me."

"All right," says Reiner, wrapping his slippery hand back around Bertolt's cock -- the blood soaking through their uniforms makes it slick, easy -- and starts up a rhythm. It's barely a matter of time before Bertolt is trembling in his arms, body tensed like a bowstring, but when Reiner hastens the pace Bertolt struggles out of his grasp, hips shying away from Reiner's long strokes.

"I thought you wanted me to touch you," says Reiner, stilling his hand on Bertolt's cock. "Am I doing something wrong?"

"No," says Bertolt, turning his face into his shoulder, but his voice is anguished and it takes Reiner only a moment to put it all together. With his free hand he drags the waist of Bertolt's jeans down to his thighs, exposing more skin for Reiner to smear even darker with blood; Bertolt's running hot to the touch as always, and after a few moments of one-handed fumbling Reiner finally gets his own buttons undone to press against him skin to skin, cock snug against the cleft of Bertolt's ass. 

"Right," says Reiner, rolling his hips and hearing Bertolt moan in response, "what you want is this, isn't it?" When Bertolt doesn't answer, Reiner reaches down between his cheeks, fitting the pad of his thumb against the tight hole and feeling it tense in reflex. "Come on, you can tell me."

" _Reiner,_ " whines Bertolt, voice breaking sweetly. "Don't m-make me say it -- "

If it wasn't for Reiner, Bertolt could likely go whole days without uttering a word. Reiner's used to coaxing daily conversation out of him, but there's no bigger victory than getting Bertolt to work past his shame and _ask_ for it: it's cruel, perhaps, but in the long run it's for Bertolt's own good, and Reiner uses his most patient tone when he says, "I can't give you what you want if you won't tell me what it is."

"I w-want -- " says Bertolt in a half-whisper. "Want you."

Reiner doesn't move an inch. "Want me how, Bertolt?" he says, still and waiting.

Bertolt chokes out a sob. "I want you to," he says, and the rest of the sentence tumbles out, rushed and desperate, "to f-fuck me, Reiner, please, I want -- I _need_ you."

"Yeah," Reiner groans, and rewards Bertolt by sinking the tip of his thumb into Bertolt's hole, pressing against the friction into that searing heat. Bertolt reacts immediately, letting out a small gasp and pushing back into it as if he's already wet and open, and Reiner crooks his thumb just to feel Bertolt's muscles pulse around it. 

"I'm gonna give it to you, Bertl," he says, stroking Bertolt's side reassuringly, "gonna fuck you so hard you'll feel it for a week."

"Yes. _Yes,_ " says Bertolt, sounding half-wrecked from just the promise alone. "D-do it, Reiner, please -- "

What Reiner wouldn't give for a jar of salve from the infirmary or the grease they use on their gear, but all he has is spit and the slick, viscous Titan blood that's still dripping steadily from their clothes, their skin, the tips of their lashes. Reiner skates his fingers down the small of Bertolt's back and coats them in red, up to the palm, before sinking two of them right into Bertolt's familiar heat; it's a tight fit, but Reiner works his fingers shallowly in the small space, spreading them as wide as he can manage and pressing blunt fingertips into the vulnerable walls.

" _God,_ " Bertolt chokes out, spine arching, "ah -- " The back of his neck is damp with sweat, the tips of his ears crimson. "Reiner, th-that's good enough."

"No, it's not," says Reiner. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," says Bertolt, hips thrusting backwards to meet Reiner's hand. "I'm ready, _please_ \-- "

Reiner draws his fingers out, slow, letting the tips catch on Bertolt's rim before sliding them back inside to seek the steady thrum of his pulse. He can't help taking his time with Bertolt, watching him fall apart on nothing but Reiner's fingers: the inside of his body like a furnace, reminding Reiner of the night he'd fucked Bertolt on his fist because he'd wanted it and Reiner could never, will never be able to deny Bertolt the few things he can bring himself to ask for. Bertolt had begged then, too, forcing himself deeper onto Reiner's wrist the way he's thrusting back against him now, as if his life depended on Reiner filling him up entirely, leaving no part of him untouched.

"Don't t-tease me like this, Reiner," sobs Bertolt, and out of the corner of his eye Reiner can see his hands desperately casting about on the stone wall, trying to find purchase. "I saved you -- you _owe_ me -- "

"What are you talking about?" Reiner corkscrews his fingers, reveling in every contraction of Bertolt's muscles around them. "I thought you _needed_ me."

"I hate you," Bertolt says, like he means it. " _Fuck_ me, Reiner, please,  now -- "

Blood, even this much of it, is far from enough, but they've done more with less and Reiner knows Bertolt could take him now and not tear. He draws his fingers out and kisses the back of Bertolt's neck, and then with one long, measured push fits himself inside of his friend, hips pressed flush against the swell of Bertolt's ass. 

"Fuck, Bertl," says Reiner, feeling him tremble around him, underneath him. "Do you have any idea how good you feel?"

Bertolt's response is little more than a ragged intake of breath, and Reiner waits patiently, taking Bertolt into his arms and waiting for the trembling to subside. No matter how many times they've done this before it always feels like a dream, like a miracle, being this close to someone else; Bertolt's all burning pressure and fluttering tightness, a mix of sensations Reiner can barely begin to process, much less articulate. 

"Rei -- ah," Bertolt says, voice cracking. "Reiner -- "

"I'm here," says Reiner, kissing the shell of Bertolt's ear, the side of his burning-hot cheek. "Just tell me when."

" _Now,_ " says Bertolt. He's clearly still struggling to adjust, muscles tensing and spasming around Reiner's cock, but his voice is an order Reiner wouldn't think to disobey. "Move, Reiner, now, _please_ \-- "

So Reiner obliges, and the rest of Bertolt's sentence turns into a wordless cry that seems to echo in Reiner's ears. He draws out halfway before sliding all the way back inside: slowly at first, and then with more force, pushing each sob out of Bertolt's throat. It has to hurt, at least a little, but Bertolt doesn't tell him to stop -- just spreads his legs wider and braces himself more firmly against the wall, angles his hips so that every one of Reiner's thrusts sinks in deep, all the way to the hilt.

"I could do this forever," breathes Reiner, looking down to where he's inside of his friend, fascinated by the motion. It's hard to believe Bertolt had ever been terrified of this when now he takes Reiner in so easily, opens up for him on every thrust and clings so tightly when he pulls back as if his body can't bear to let Reiner go. He doesn't think he could ever get tired of this, not when he's the only one who ever gets to see Bertolt break apart like this, to hear him beg in his soft, polite voice for Reiner to fuck him senseless.

"H-harder, Reiner, p-please," Bertolt gasps out, catching his attention, and Reiner escalates the pace, drives into Bertolt with the full force of his body. Bertolt arches his back, lets his elbows buckle so that his face is pressed to the wall; Reiner leans in as far as he can to press a kiss to the top of Bertolt's spine.

Bertolt cries out Reiner's name again, sounding almost pained, and Reiner realizes the blood has finally begun to evaporate, turning the slick, easy slide less so. He takes his hand from Bertolt's hip to wet his fingers in that pliant mouth and Bertolt takes them in without protest, running his tongue along the digits and cleaning off the taste of blood, of himself, and makes a noise of disappointment around them when Reiner draws himself fully out of Bertolt's ass.

"Calm down," Reiner tells him, feeling along the perfectly even ridge of Bertolt's teeth before shoving his fingers halfway down Bertolt's throat as if he's on his knees in front of Reiner instead. Once he's satisfied he draws those out, too, and replaces his cock with them, spreading Bertolt open like before. Reiner doesn't tease him this time, though, just delves deep into that hot, tight hole, and when he slides his cock back inside he keeps his fingers there alongside to stretch Bertolt even wider. "See," he says, "that's better, isn't it?"

" _Oh,_ " says Bertolt, voice trembling, "y-yes, Reiner, it's so good -- "

" _You're_ so good," says Reiner, punctuating it with a snap of his hips, "taking it so fucking  well -- "

"God, don't -- " says Bertolt, dragging one hand up to cover his face at the same time as he tightens up gratefully around Reiner's cock, and Reiner can't help it: he gathers Bertolt into an embrace, sliding one arm tight around his ribs and the other across his chest, hand settling at the base of Bertolt's throat where his pulse pounds through his skin. There's less leverage this way, less force in his thrusts, but this time when Reiner leans in to kiss Bertolt their lips meet, even if only for a moment.

"So good, Bertolt," Reiner says again, because Bertolt doesn't believe him unless he keeps telling him so, and sometimes not even then. "You have -- you have no idea." 

It shouldn't be right that fucking Bertolt feels so _good,_ not when the two of them drive each other mad, not when Bertolt makes his blood boil like no one else: it shouldn't be possible for them to fit together so perfectly. Reiner knew,  though -- knew even before they were thirteen and kissing for the first time behind a toolshed that for him to leave Bertolt would never come to pass; that they belong to each other as surely as Annie, with her walled-off heart, belongs to no one but herself.

Reiner was a fool to risk throwing his life away so carelessly, to risk leaving Bertolt so alone: it won't happen again. 

"Ah -- " Bertolt tips his head back against Reiner's shoulder, damp hair scratching at his cheek. "More," he says, pulse fluttering under Reiner's palm, "g-give it to me -- "

"You close?" says Reiner, and Bertolt just nods, gasping wordlessly. "Come on, Bertl, I've got you."

"H-harder," begs Bertolt, pressing his face to the side of Reiner's neck, smearing wetness against his skin, "please, Reiner, I-I'm -- "

Reiner does the best he can, shoving up into his friend with as much force as he can muster, tightening his grasp around Bertolt's throat, and when Bertolt finally comes it sounds like he's being torn apart. Reiner clamps a hand over Bertolt's mouth and feels teeth sink into his palm, tight as the clench of Bertolt's body around him -- so tight Reiner can't thrust, can't do anything but hold Bertolt as his entire body shivers and shakes and he comes undone. Even the aftershocks are nearly strong enough to bring Reiner up to the edge himself, Bertolt's internal muscles rippling around Reiner's cock for what seems like hours, and Reiner presses his face into Bertolt's hair to ride it out.

At last, Bertolt sucks in a huge, tearing gasp, body relaxing all at once in Reiner's arms. Reiner starts to withdraw, intending to finish by hand, before Bertolt tightens around him and says, in a small voice, "You can k-keep going if -- if you want," and Reiner doesn't have to be told twice. 

"Fuck," he manages, hips surging forward, body pinning Bertolt to the stone as he sinks back inside of him. "Just -- "

"Oh," says Bertolt, almost a whisper, and the rasp in his voice makes Reiner's pride swell at having fucked him so thoroughly he can barely make a sound. He looks wrecked, too -- eyes screwed shut, lashes damp, lips parted around a moan -- and Reiner wasn't lying when he said he could do this forever, all day, every waking hour for the rest of their lives. 

"Love you," Reiner says, mouth against the hot shell of Bertolt's ear, "fuck, Bertl, I swear -- "

After humanity is free again, he'll take Bertolt out to the country and make a home, maybe even start a family. Annie could come, too, if she doesn't have other plans: it would be just like old times in their little village when the three of them were still children, when their hands were still so --

"I swear it," says Reiner, pressing forward and holding, hips flush against Bertolt's ass, "after this is all over, I'm going to take you away from all of this -- somewhere so far no one's even _heard_ of Titans before."

"What -- " Bertolt shudders, tightening up around him. "Wh-what are you _saying_ \-- "

"We won't always have to be soldiers, Bertolt -- one day we'll wake up and humanity will be free, and we won't have to put our lives on the line ever again." The words are tumbling out of his mouth and onto Bertolt's skin before Reiner can even think to stop himself, but there's nothing in them but absolute truth. This is what he joined the Survey Corps for, why he walked away from the lure of an easy life to face hell on a daily basis: because with every new Titan they kill, there's one less standing between Reiner and _home_. "We're going to survive  this -- this terrible, godforsaken war; I know we will."

"Reiner," protests Bertolt, "you don't have to talk -- "

Reiner kisses the top of Bertolt's spine anyway, murmurs his next words like the most solemn oath. "As soon as we've killed every last Titan on this earth," he says, "we're going to leave this place and make a home together. Just the two of us -- and Annie, if she wants; we're going to live the quiet lives we deserve, somewhere no one can find us."

" _Stop_ it," Bertolt says.  "S-stop talking nonsense and f-fuck me." 

He shoves back weakly against Reiner, shaking like he's about to come a second time, and the tightness around Reiner's cock reminds him what he's in the middle of doing. "Sorry, sorry," he says, flattening Bertolt back to the wall and resuming his thrusts, "I'm almost -- just like that, Bertolt -- "

"Ah," says Bertolt, pinned in place on Reiner's cock, noises rising in pitch as Reiner speeds up his pace. "Yes -- "

"Bertl," pants Reiner, "fuck, I'm gonna -- " He fucks into Bertolt like he's trying to reach the very core of him, thrusts long and hard and heavy until he comes. When it's over Reiner slumps against his friend, still buried deep inside of him, and tries to catch his breath.

"That was incredible," he says, lips against the back of Bertolt's neck, "god, how much I love you."

"I do, too," says Bertolt, in a near-whisper.  "L-love you." His breath hitches quietly when Reiner draws out of him, and again when Reiner slaps gently at one reddened cheek. "The others are probably -- they're going to be looking for us."

"Probably," agrees Reiner. He tugs Bertolt's jeans up over his ass, turning him around to do up the buttons; Bertolt tries to bat his hands away, but Reiner persists in trying to set him to rights. "Hold still for a minute, will you?"

"You don't have to," starts Bertolt, but Reiner shushes him, says,

"I _want_ to," and kneels to reattach the buckles of Bertolt's gear, tightening the straps to secure them. Bertolt lets him, standing straight and still, but after a moment he sniffs quietly, and Reiner doesn't miss the furtive way he swipes at his eyes. "Fuck," he says, eyes tracing the dark line of bruises along Bertolt's neck, "I _did_ hurt you."

"It's okay," says Bertolt, shaking his head. "It wasn't -- I'm fine."

Reiner finishes with Bertolt's gear and gets to his feet. "All right," he says, and draws Bertolt's hand up to his mouth, kisses the tender skin of his palm. "If you're sure."

Bertolt nods, reclaiming his hand, and it's ridiculous how he can blush at something so small when minutes earlier Reiner had been fully inside of him, but it's endearing all the same. Reiner looks at his own hand, the stretch between thumb and forefinger where Bertolt had bitten down, but there's no blood, not even a mark. It must have been his mind playing tricks on him in the heat of the moment, he decides; in any case, it'll be much easier to wield a blade without a sore hand. 

He's just buttoning up his own jeans when a voice comes from overhead, and Bertolt buries his face in Reiner's shoulder with a mortified noise. 

"Pardon me," says Mikasa, face red as her ever-present scarf. "I did not expect to find the two of you alive." From her expression she's just as embarrassed as Bertolt is, even though it's far from the first time she's walked in on them in the last four years. 

Reiner grins up at her. "Don't worry about it," he says, rubbing the small of Bertolt's back. "It's good to see you."

Mikasa nods, a little awkwardly. "The party's gathered in the south square -- Captain Hange wants everyone accounted for before we move out," she says. "Are either of you injured?" 

"We're fine," Reiner says. He's used to speaking for the both of them, and Bertolt's certainly run out of words for today. "Just a few scratches, nothing major. Did everyone else make it out all right?"

"Jean sprained his ankle, but otherwise there were no casualties," Mikasa says in a tone that indicates he's making the rest of them suffer for it. "The two of you should get moving -- I'll tell the captain that you're on your way."

Reiner feels Bertolt nod against his shoulder. "Understood," he says. "We'll be there right away. Thanks, Mikasa."

Mikasa disappears over the ridge with a final nod, and Bertolt pulls away from Reiner at last. "Do you think she's going to," he asks, voice nervous, "to tell them."

"She won't have to," says Reiner, barely bothering to hide a grin. "One look at you and Mikasa won't have to say a word." It's true: Bertolt looks a mess, even for someone fresh from battle. His hair is damp and tangled, his throat marked up with a set of Reiner's prints, and the stain on the front of his sweater is going to eliminate any last doubt about what it is they've been doing. "Hell, even Connie might be able to figure it out."

"Shit," says Bertolt, looking down at himself. Reiner watches him scrub ineffectually at his sweater with the edge of his sleeve before taking it off and turning it inside-out. "They're going to know."

"What, are you ashamed of me?" Reiner bumps him with a shoulder, easy, companionable. "It ought to make you proud -- all those other pretty girls and boys in our squad and I've only got eyes for you."

"Oh, s-stop," says Bertolt, but he's blushing again. "Let's just go."

Reiner gets the last of his gear back on, and the two of them begin to climb out of the ruined cellar into the open air. Something makes Reiner hesitate, though -- a tightness in his chest he can't explain. "Bertolt," he says, looking back at the Titan they'd killed earlier, but it's long gone, evaporated into nothingness. "Wait." Bertolt halts obediently, and Reiner reaches forward, grabs hold of his wrist. 

"Reiner," Bertolt asks him quietly, looking down at their hands.

"I meant what I said before, about living peacefully when all of the Titans are gone," Reiner says. He tightens his grip on Bertolt's wrist, the skin hot to the touch. "I'm going to keep you safe, Bertolt, you and Annie -- I _swear_ it."

"Let's talk about it later," says Bertolt. There's a faint blue bruise at the base of his neck; Reiner wants to kiss it, to dig his thumb into it. "They're waiting for us."

"Bertl." Reiner needs him to _understand,_ and how can Bertolt do that when he won't even look at him? "I need you, too, you know."

Bertolt looks up, then; he's smiling, even if it doesn't reach his eyes, and that's good enough for Reiner. He lets go of Bertolt's wrist, and Bertolt slides that same hand around the back of Reiner's neck, uncharacteristically bold. "I know th-that, Reiner," he says, "I always have."


End file.
